


Lay Your Dreams Down Gently

by Mizmak



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24129244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak
Summary: Crowley had always refused to tell Aziraphale what he did as an angel.  But not long after saving the world, on an overnight trip to Scotland, Aziraphale has a chance to find out.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 124





	Lay Your Dreams Down Gently

The road trips began around ten years before Armageddon, when Crowley would disappear for three days at a time every August. 

“Need to take the Bentley for a long drive,” he told Aziraphale. “It’s good for a car, to get a bit of airing out. Be back soon.”

The car, Aziraphale decided, provided an excuse for something else entirely. For when Crowley returned from these annual jaunts, he seemed quieter, more reticent, and often a bit wistful – as if he had found a place where he had been content, and had returned to a place where he was not.

“Where do you go?” he asked one year.

“North. Just north.”

“That’s rather vague, my dear. How far north – north England? Scotland?”

Crowley had merely shrugged, as if destinations didn’t matter, only the drive itself. “I just go north until it’s time to come back.”

Hardly helpful and, Aziraphale believed, not entirely truthful.

“And what do you do there? Surely it doesn’t take three days to drive as far north as you can?” How many miles to the end of Britain…it was John o’Groats, somewhere he’d not been. And maybe he didn’t even go that far, for he hadn’t actually named a location. “Do you always visit the same spot?”

“Too many questions, Angel.” Crowley had then changed the topic, and that was the end of that.

During one of those Augusts, not long after his friend had returned from his mysterious annual road trip, Aziraphale had been left sitting in the Bentley while Crowley popped into a wine shop. He swore the glovebox accidentally popped open of its own accord, possibly from too many sunglasses, but there it was, and there he was, and Aziraphale couldn’t help noticing a brochure lying on top of the pile.

Galloway Forest Dark Sky Park. _An hour and a half from Carlisle, Galloway Forest became the UK’s first Dark Sky Park in 2009, and is one of Scotland’s top stargazing destinations._

Curious. So this was where Crowley drove – to see the stars?

“This looks like a lovely spot,” he said when Crowley climbed back into the car.

“Since when do you snoop in other people’s gloveboxes?”

“It fell open. Why do you have so many sunglasses in there?”

“Where else would I keep them? Hand that over.” And he had snatched the brochure, tucking it away inside his jacket.

“Well, it does seem a wonderful place to go. Did you enjoy the stargazing?”

Crowley had merely sighed as he pulled out into London’s traffic. “Yeah. It was fine.”

Aziraphale hadn’t seen many stars over London in the centuries he’d lived there. He couldn’t say that he had thought much about them over his long time on Earth, though he recalled some truly splendid views from ancient times during his wanderings through the Middle East. “Can you see the Milky Way up there?”

“Yup.”

“Such an astonishing creation. I did sometimes think about what it must have been like, to build—“ and then he abruptly broke off as Crowley swerved too fast round a corner, making him gasp. “Be careful!”

At which point, Aziraphale realized he had broken the one rule which his friend had imposed on their conversations from the very beginning.

_“Never mention the past before Eden.”_

He had slipped only a few times, fairly early on, and had paid the price, for Crowley would storm off, not speaking to him again for far too long. There would absolutely be no discussions of the time when Crowley had been an angel, nor about what he had done in Heaven, nor of his Fall, unless he initiated it, which he did not.

When Crowley’s driving resumed a more steady pace, Aziraphale said, “I’m sorry. Please don’t go off and stop talking to me.”

Silence followed then, until they arrived at the bookshop. As Crowley carried the wine inside, he said, “Just leave it for another time, all right? Someday it might be different. But not now.”

Aziraphale had sense enough not to push any farther, knowing that even that faint promise was fragile. “Shall we have a glass of wine before dinner?” he replied, guiding them back to safe territory.

And that had been the end of it.

More Augusts went by, and every year Aziraphale wished he could go along on Crowley’s road trips to the north, but of course, he was under Heaven’s command. An occasional meeting in the park here, a meal there, an evening of drinking now and then – all of it was risky, yet so far their little encounters had not drawn undue attention. A three-day journey in close company, however, could never be countenanced.

And then one miraculous summer, he found himself released from Heaven’s command.

“Well, it’s August again,” he said on a fine morning when Crowley turned up at the bookshop, bearing pastries from the bakery down the block. 

“Comes after July every year, I hear.”

“Indeed. So I imagine you’ll be off soon.”

Crowley settled onto the sofa, a pear Danish in hand. “What? Why?”

“To take your car for its annual ‘airing’.” 

“Oh, that. Almost forget. Been a more hectic August than usual.”

Well, yes, it had rather, what with the world nearly coming to an end. “Always a good idea to return to a normal way of life as soon as possible after an upset, I’m told.” 

“An ‘upset’? Armageddon was an ‘upset’?”

Aziraphale had a mouth full of cream doughnut. “Mmph.” He swallowed. “A big upset, then. Which is thankfully over.”

“So we simply pretend it never happened, or something, is that the idea?”

“No, of course not. But routines and traditions and old habits can be relaxing. And your car is sort of new, in a way. You should take it out for your annual drive to Scotland to make sure it is completely back the way it should be.” He paused. “And naturally, this year, I would like to come with you.”

Crumbs from the Danish sputtered out of Crowley’s mouth in a decidedly undignified fashion. “You _what?”_

“Quite an understandable request, I should think. No reason why I shouldn’t accompany you, is there? No one is watching us now, and we have no reason to hide our friendship.”

“But…er….uh—“

“Galloway, I believe – to the star viewing place? I should like to see that very much.”

“Er…well…I don’t know, I mean, it’s a lot of driving. You don’t like the way I drive.”

Aziraphale smiled as he handed Crowley a serviette. “Do brush up those crumbs, please.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“I shall take along a book or two. Perhaps if I am immersed in my reading, I shan’t notice your devilish motoring skills.”

“Yeah, but – look, Angel, it just isn’t your thing. Trust me.”

Aziraphale determined that it was time for the pleading look which he had mastered over six thousand years. He raised his eyebrows, widened his eyes, and said, “You don’t _want_ me to join you? After all we’ve been through, I thought we were not only friends, but the _best_ of friends.”

Then he added a hopeful smile, knowing full well its effect on Crowley, who had never failed yet to cave to his angelic wiles.

Possibly this wasn’t fair, but Aziraphale felt it was all in a good cause – allowing his friend the chance to do something _nice_ – and thus the use of his pleading tactics was entirely justified.

To his surprise, Crowley wavered. He didn’t leap to acquiesce, as he normally did. He bit his lower lip, frowned, gazed down at his pastry for a while, and made a lot of unintelligible noises.

What was the difficulty? Why was having him along on this road trip the cause of such hesitation?

The longer the mumbling and unresponsiveness continued, the guiltier Aziraphale felt, and he wasn’t certain why he felt that way, but in the end, he opted to ease the tension. If it was going to make Crowley this uncomfortable, then he truly ought to stop begging and _be_ the good friend he claimed to be.

“So sorry,” he said into the awkward atmosphere between them. “I didn’t mean to push so hard. Never mind, it’s all right if you prefer to go alone.”

Crowley let out a long sigh. “Thanks.” He set the unfinished pastry aside. “I’ll see you later, Angel.”

And with that, he walked out of the bookshop, leaving Aziraphale puzzling over the conversation for many hours.

That night, Aziraphale tried sleeping, which he didn’t do that often, but things had felt fraught since the “upset” as he had rather blithely called it, and a rest seemed in order.

His night did not turn out as restful as he would have liked.

For he dreamed. 

Mostly, when he slept, his dreams were few or forgotten, and the ones he did recall were short, pleasant escapades – often they were dreams of flying above the Earth. Sometimes he dreamt of finding a rare book, and sometimes his dreams were of fine food. Not unwelcome at all.

Then there was the one recurring dream which intruded into his slumber – not that many times, since he didn’t sleep that often, yet enough times now over the millennia that it felt special. And he knew why.

That night, Aziraphale found himself within this dream, where he walked a long and narrow path that wound through a strangely featureless landscape—a place where he felt that he was lost. Another path ran beside it, and another lost soul walked there as well, always shadowy, ever in darkness. His companion would often hesitate, turn, and reach out to him, yet they never touched. Sometimes Aziraphale strode in front of his counterpart, leading the way, and sometimes he followed. And as they walked the shores of eternity, their paths twisted, turned, crossed over each other, and then split far apart at times, though they always came back to their original point – two paths side by side, two souls walking the same way, forever together yet ever apart.

This dream haunted him, over and over through the centuries, for he could never see an end to the path. He walked on and on, swathed in a white light, while Crowley—for who else could his solitary companion be—walked on and on in shadows of black and gray.

Before this night, whenever he had this dream, Crowley would reach out to him. The dark figure turned towards him, beckoning, and as always happened before, Aziraphale would silently shake his head _No_. And Crowley would turn, and stand still, gazing at the vanishing point far away on the horizon.

Every time, Aziraphale would move off first, down the empty path before him, without looking back.

Every time, sooner or later, as the dream wove through the night, he would feel the presence of that silent shadow following after, sometimes close, sometimes far, forever unwavering, forever steadfast.

On this night, for the first time, the dream changed.

This night, when Crowley reached out to him, Aziraphale stopped, and turned, and did not shake his head.

For the first time in an eternity, he nodded instead. 

The world had changed. 

And then he awoke.

Morning came. Aziraphale tried to do what he normally did, to follow his routine, retain all of his habits. Surely one dream couldn’t alter reality…could it?

Of course not. 

Surely Crowley did not dream the same dream…or did he?

Aziraphale went out for breakfast, and then returned to the shop, decided not to open it, as he rarely did so any longer. He dusted the shelves, though, out of habit. Then he read for a while, until it was time for his eleven o’clock tea break.

As he fussed over his tea, the bookshop telephone rang.

_We’re closed_ , he thought as he went to pick up the receiver. _For a long time._

“I’m afraid we won’t be open—“

“Angel, it’s me.”

“Ah…yes. Um.” Dreams cannot change reality. Not one whit. “Were we doing something today? I’ve been out of sorts, possibly forgot—“

“We’re doing something. You’ll need a sleeping bag. And a pillow or two.”

Aziraphale stared at the phone. Then he said, “What are you talking about, my dear fellow?”

“When I go to the dark sky park, I sleep outside, usually for two nights, although we can do one if you don’t like it. Miracle up something to sleep in, all right?”

For a moment, Aziraphale wondered if he should ask why Crowley had changed his mind, but then he thought better of it. Crowley didn’t like to explain why he did things – he preferred to keep his motives private.

Perhaps Crowley had strange dreams, too, not that he’d ever mention such a thing. So Aziraphale did not ask.

In the end, he simply replied, “Should I bring a food hamper as well?”

“Yeah, that would be good. I’ll bring the wine. Pick you up in an hour or so?”

“I shall be ready.”

_A sleeping bag?_

He had never used one in his entire life on Earth, but Aziraphale supposed there must be a first time for everything. 

How cold did it get in late August in Scotland? 

He decided to bring along several wool blankets as well, just in case.

Tartan blankets, of course.

They wound up not getting out of London until one in the afternoon. Crowley drove fairly fast, though not dangerously so, for it rained lightly most of the way.

Aziraphale kept his nose in a collection of Wilde plays the entire time, or at least, the times when he wasn’t nibbling from the hamper on the back seat.

They reached Scotland by six, and soon turned off the M6 to head west. Half an hour later, Crowley made the last turn onto the A712 that would take them to Galloway Forest.

Aziraphale put his book aside to gaze out at a landscape of low, rolling hills, some grassy, others shrouded in more trees than he’d seen in one place in quite a while. Stone walls hemmed in fields, and once he spied a pony trotting past.

As they wound in and out and up and around the hillsides, he said, “There are an awful lot of trees here.” And then immediately felt foolish. Galloway _Forest_ Park. Of course there were trees.

Crowley kindly let that one pass. “Not too far along is a loch, with a visitor center. Won’t be open this late. Then it’s two or three miles further to the spot where I like to stay through the night. Sometimes see red deer there.”

“Oh, that sounds pleasant.”

They drove onward for a few more miles, through more fields and trees, until a large body of water appeared, with rocky shores. It was all rather lovely, although Aziraphale felt peckish by this point, despite his frequent snacks. They hadn’t stopped for a proper meal.

“Dinner soon?” he asked.

“Yeah, we’re nearly there.”

After they passed the loch, a short drive brought them to a narrow turnoff, and the road took them up a short hill to a small parking area, with no other cars or people around. Crowley pulled the Bentley to a stop.

“Hardly anyone comes here, at least when I’m about.” He smiled. “Odd how that happens every year.”

A little demonic miracle no doubt. Aziraphale got out and stretched his aching limbs.

The top of the grass-covered hill was fairly flat, and treeless. Crowley spread a large groundsheet down before hauling their sleeping bags and pillows over.

Aziraphale brought the hamper and the wine to the spot, then went back for his two extra tartan blankets. He unrolled his sleeping bag, and piled the blankets neatly at the end, and then he put his two pillows at the top.

“Rather like a picnic, isn’t it?” he said as he settled down on his sleeping bag. He supposed an evening picnic was not the norm. However, there was food, and they were outdoors. Surely that ought to count.

He rummaged through the hamper to take out plates, forks, and several containers. He had brought two ready-made meals from a restaurant near the bookshop – salmon in lemon and caper sauce with wild rice pilaf and asparagus, with sourdough rolls. He hadn’t forgotten dessert, with two large slices of chocolate cake.

Crowley poured out the wine, and they settled down to eat and drink, not talking much. The rain had let up, and the clouds had cleared away. It would still be light at this time of year for another hour or more. Aziraphale scanned the hillside for signs of the deer.

He’d nearly given up on seeing one, having got all the way to his cake, when suddenly a family of deer trotted out of a small copse below them – a mother with two fawns. They were a deep reddish brown, and they moved slowly through the tall grass, the mother alert, the fawns staying close. They soon disappeared into the trees at the other side.

Crowley had watched them too. “Don’t see that in London.”

“No.” Aziraphale realized that he loved seeing such graceful creatures, and that he didn’t get out of the city often enough. He ought to go to natural areas more, the better to appreciate the wildness left in the world.

He finished his cake, and refilled his wine glass. “This is a respite, then, is it?” Aziraphale had always believed that Crowley preferred being in large, vibrant cities. “Or is it something else?”

Crowley had finished his food long before, and was on his third glass of wine. He took off his sunglasses then, and snapped them into some other place before he replied. “Stars. I come to look at the stars.”

“Yes, one of the best spots to view them in all of Britain, according to the brochure I read.” Aziraphale looked upward. The blue of a summer evening sky was slowly darkening as the sun set. He saw one twinkling light already, low on the horizon. “I believe it was given some sort of special status for stargazing?”

“A Dark Sky Park, yes. About ten years ago.”

“That’s when you heard about it?”

Crowley nodded.

And he’d come to check it out, and had been returning every year. “Didn’t you ever want to try a different place for a holiday?”

“Not what it’s for, Angel.”

Aziraphale looked at him, and saw an odd, wistful expression cross his friend’s face. It took a while for it to register, and when it did, he recognized it for what it was. _Nostalgia_. A sentimental longing for something gone, for a time or place forever lost.

But why the stars?

Six thousand years was an awfully long time to know someone, and Aziraphale could not recall with absolute clarity every conversation they’d ever had over such a length, yet he felt fairly certain that an inordinate interest in celestial objects on Crowley’s part would be a characteristic that he would remember.

He had a mental catalogue of all the things and places Crowley was fond of, or had enjoyed in the past, and this stargazing interest could not be found within it.

Then again, they hadn’t known each other forever.

Not from before the war in Heaven.

Aziraphale pushed that thought away for now. Instead, he set about putting the dishes and containers back neatly into the hamper, snapping his fingers to clean them with a rather frivolous miracle first. Then he further distracted himself by plumping up his pillows.

Crowley quietly watched him. He sipped his wine, and then offered the bottle. “One more refill? Almost gone.”

Aziraphale stopped fiddling with his pillows to hold out his glass. “Thank you.”

“There are more bottles if you want.”

“No, this is enough.”

Crowley shoved the hamper off to one side, and stretched out atop his sleeping bag, on his back, his head propped on his own two pillows. He cradled the wine glass between his hands.

Aziraphale followed his example, settling back.

“Stars are coming out,” Crowley whispered.

“Yes.” The sun had set, the sky had darkened, and the pinpricks of light blinked into view – a few at first, then dozens, and then, as the night sky fully fell, suddenly hundreds, then thousands of brilliant stars spread across the blackness.

He saw the band of the Milky Way arching across the sky. Aziraphale felt astonished, not only by the endless river of stars, but by his own amazement, for he had been in the heavens, he had seen the stars being born, and yet this felt glorious. To see the riches of heaven from Earth, from his _home_ , was like seeing them anew, and to see them shine forth from the inky darkness was strangely compelling, as if they’d been created _just now_ , just for the two of them here, at this moment – the sky and the earth joined in a wondrous harmony all their own.

He looked away briefly to glance at Crowley.

And saw a single tear course down his friend’s cheek.

Aziraphale turned back to gaze at the stars. He brought his glass to his lips and slowly drank the last of the wine, and then set it on the grass. He clasped his hands over his chest. 

There were so many stars. Some formed familiar constellations – the Plough, Cassiopeia, Pegasus. He mentally traced a line from the Plough to find the North Star, Polaris. The constant star. Then he looked at Venus, just above the horizon – the Evening Star, though not a star, yet beautiful all the same.

These brilliant lights had been lovingly crafted by angels, in the long long days that each seemed to last an eternity, in the days before Heaven’s war.

He had asked Crowley about his life as an angel before the Fall early on, and he knew the price of asking. 

_Never mention the past before Eden, Angel_.

And he would lose sight of him on those neverending paths they trod, not just in a strange dream, but in reality too, any of the few times when he forgot. 

Now, here in this quiet place of respite beneath the glory of the heavens, Aziraphale believed he finally knew why. The stars _belonged_ to Crowley, and always had. And now, here in this place, his friend had opened that past to him, and he had reached out.

Here, now, something had changed. 

And last night, for the first time, the dream had changed.

Last night, when Crowley had reached out to him, Aziraphale had stopped, and turned, and did not refuse him.

For the first time in an eternity, he had found the strength to say _Yes_.

He looked at the sky.

Surely one dream couldn’t alter reality…

Then again, perhaps it could.

_“Angels are bright still,”_ Aziraphale whispered into the shadows, _“though the brightest fell.”_

The silence drew on, and the night drew on as well, throwing the starlight into stronger, deeper contrast. The air drew a little bit colder then, and Aziraphale sat up to examine his sleeping bag, searching for the zipper pull.

“It’s on the side facing me,” Crowley said.

“Ah. Found it.” Aziraphale tugged the zipper down.

He looked over to see that Crowley had set his wine glass aside, and had shifted about to unzip his bag. They both took off their shoes before sliding inside.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice that their sleeping bags were opened towards each other’s, and that neither of them had zipped theirs back up. “How cold does it get here on an August night?”

“Might get a little chilly.”

There was that pile of wool blankets at his feet. Aziraphale decided to pretend that he had forgotten all about them. “Body heat is very useful in such conditions, I’m told.” He shifted closer, until the top of his sleeping bag overlapped Crowley’s, until they were lying side by side beneath one cover, their arms and legs touching.

Crowley didn’t look at him, his gaze firmly on the sky. “You know, there are only two things I’ve ever done,” he spoke softly, “in the endless time I’ve been granted, that make me feel _blessed_. The first is that I once helped create lights in the darkness.” His hand found Aziraphale’s, and he intertwined their fingers. “And the second is that I’ve loved an angel more than life itself.”

_Why_ , Aziraphale wondered, had the stars suddenly turned hazy?

Crowley gently squeezed his hand. “Look at me, Angel.”

Aziraphale did as he was bidden, the tears clouding his vision still. _Love_. “How did that happen?” he said, barely hearing his own words.

He looked into Crowley’s eyes, a light golden glow in the night. Aziraphale squeezed their joined hands, and then brought up his other hand to brush away his own tears before touching Crowley’s face where the tears had fallen long ago – and not so long ago – and where he saw heartache tinged with regret, and where he read longing overcome by love.

_How did it ever come to be, this deepest of all affections, between those not meant to care at all for one another?_

Two paths stretched out across the world, and they had walked those paths side by side, ever reaching without touching, moving ahead or falling behind, straying without truly meaning to stray, not knowing if there could ever be an end to their solitary travels – never knowing if their paths would ever be allowed to join – and yet reaching towards each other all the same. 

“Mysterious ways,” Aziraphale murmured as he moved closer still, as he reached out, as he broke the last bonds of Heaven and leaned in to kiss Crowley as he had so often wished to do, long before this moment.

Their lips touched so lightly at first that he almost held himself there, yearning to hold on to the sensation of anticipation for as long as he could, to cherish the instant of _before this_ , and he almost wished that time would stop long enough for him to etch every detail into his memory, for _after this_ , the world would be new and how could he remember then?

But stillness could not be endured, not for longer than a heartbeat, and he moved on, past _before_ into _now_ , into a touch that became a tender exploration, and on into a pressing need that turned a touch into a lingering caress, a caress that turned into a deeper need…Aziraphale kissed Crowley, and he tasted dark earth, and mists from long-ago clouds, and he touched the shadows of night, and he touched the brightness of heaven.

He held up then, overwhelmed, lost in sheer astonishment, for he knew then that their two paths had merged at last – becoming whole, and true – a singular road that showed them the way to the stars.

“That was love,” he said as he came back to himself, surprised by the sheer joy of it all. “My dearest friend.” He closed his eyes. “Where did that come from? How is it possible….”

Aziraphale felt Crowley shift, and he opened his eyes to find that Crowley had turned onto his side, and had laid his arm across Aziraphale’s chest. “Been there all along, Angel.”

“I know.” He knew. He had known. _Open your eyes_. “Why this place, why now? You never wanted me to know about the stars until now.”

Crowley kissed his forehead before nestling down against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I thought…I thought they were the last good thing that I made. If you knew…I thought you’d only see what was over and gone forever. No more good things could come from my hands.”

“Not true at all.” Aziraphale turned into their embrace, holding him tightly. “I’ve always said—“

“Don’t—“

“That you were a good person—“

“I know what you said.” Crowley sighed. “Doesn’t mean that I believed it. Thought all I ever did, after I fell, was done out of pure self-interest. It’s what fallen angels do.”

Aziraphale would never believe that, not in a million years. “Not true, of course. But fine, I know how you like to have things your own way, no matter the truth. So why choose to tell me about the stars now? Is it because you went and helped to save the Earth? Because I’d call that making something _good_.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t bad.” Crowley lifted his head to meet Aziraphale’s gaze. “But what really mattered—what was better than good—was saving you from Heaven’s wrath.”

“Ah. I see.” And that was love, and all along there had been love, which was also a very good thing to create. More beautiful even than the stars.

Aziraphale kissed him again, nearly as deeply as the first time. “Thank you.”

After a while, they turned onto their backs once more to watch the stars spread their light across the sky, until the night air grew too cold, and then they drew the covers more closely round, and found a comfortable embrace to lie within. Warmth flowed between and through them, warmth and comfort and love.

“Are we staying the second night, then?” Crowley asked. “If the skies stay clear, that is.”

“Not sure I’d mind if they weren’t.” Aziraphale thought this might be the start of a new annual tradition, and before Crowley could drop off into sleep, he told him so.

“Mm, could do,” Crowley replied. “Could try some of the other ones, too.”

“Hm? Other ones?”

“There are more Dark Sky parks around the country. There’s one in the South Downs – quite a bit closer to London.”

“Really? Then why did we drive all the way up here?”

“To give the Bentley a nice run, of course.”

“Oh, right.” He’d forgotten about that. “Well, it is a splendid place, I must admit. However, for the sake of my nerves when you’re driving, can we please try the closer one next year?”

“Could try it next week, if you like.”

“The same as this?” Aziraphale felt so content here, wrapped in his best friend’s arms. “Outdoors, I mean, spending the whole night together under the stars?”

“Yeah, if you like. I’m sure we can find a good viewing spot.”

“I’m looking forward to it very much, my dear.”

“Aziraphale….”

“Hm? Yes?”

“I’m going to go to sleep now.”

“Ah, I see. Sorry.”

Crowley kissed him on the cheek. “You should try it, too. Soothe those nerves of yours.”

“I shall, though you calmed them quite nicely already.”

Crowley nestled against him. “Goodnight, Angel.”

Aziraphale kissed the top of Crowley’s head. “Goodnight, and sleep well.”

“You, too.”

“And by the way—“

_“Shhhhhh.”_

“I love the stars. And the one who made them.”

_“Angel—“_

“Yes?” Aziraphale smiled. “Are you going to shush me again?”

“Hush,” Crowley replied. “I love you. And I mean it this time. _Go to sleep.”_ There was a pause. “And have pleasant dreams.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes. “I believe I shall.”

He planned to dream sweet dreams all through the night, and he wished the same for the truly _good_ person who slept beside him, the one who would always walk close beside him wherever he wandered, and wherever he came to rest.


End file.
